


A Good Day To Run

by Bruce_Bagel



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8152537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bruce_Bagel/pseuds/Bruce_Bagel
Summary: On January 4th, Jim Kirk turns 22 years old. While he’s embarrassingly blowing out the candles on the store-bought cake his mom got him on her way home from work, he decides he’s collectively had enough of Riverside, Iowa.





	

On January 4th, Jim Kirk turns 22 years old. While he’s embarrassingly blowing out the candles on the store-bought cake his mom got him on her way home from work, he decides he’s collectively had enough of Riverside, Iowa. 

Part of it’s the wanderlust that’s been hanging in the middle of his chest since he learned that there was a life beyond his driveway. Part of it is the awful, shitty, absolute worst excuse for a man who only ever once called him son after he married Jim’s mom, and proceeded to worm his way into Jim’s life, making it a living hell. 

More than either of those things though, it’s the car.

The fire engine red ’65 Corvette Stingray that’s sat underneath a protective tarp in the farthest corner of the garage for the past 20 years. The single most important thing in George Kirk’s life beyond his sons and his wife. The one tangible thing Jim has left of his father. 

The convertible that found itself in the driveway one chilly, sunny afternoon about a week before Jim’s birthday, gleaming bright with the hood thrown back as Frank and one of his mechanic friends tinker around. Jim watches them closely from the window of his bedroom upstairs, a pain deep in his stomach that something is coming that he isn’t going to like.

He interrogates his mom about the car in the kitchen downstairs, whose face falls to an unpracticed falter as she hears the frantic tone of her son’s voice.

“Frank found someone who’d like to buy the ‘Vette… He’s going to sell it, once he’s done some maintenance.” She can’t bring herself to look at Jim but the silence hanging between them is unbearable. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I think it’s for the best though. Doesn’t do a lick of difference sitting in the garage wrapped up like that. Your dad would have wanted it to be taken care of.”

At that, Jim walks out. Slams the back door after himself and takes off into the cornfield behind the farm, walking until he thinks he’s going to collapse. He spends the night in an abandoned cowshed and feels more helpless than he has in years.

A week later, as he blows out the candles on the chocolate cake that tastes like a superstore freezer, to the tune of his mother’s soft whisper of the happy birthday song, he realizes that not all is hopeless.

It’s the following Wednesday that the plan commences. Tuesday night, Frank comes to the dinner table with a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Car’s done and ready to go. Dust-free and waxed to a T. Can’t get the registration rolled over until I can find the title, but Dave’ll be picking her up tomorrow at 2.” He takes Winona’s hand across the table and Jim struggles to keep his spaghetti in his stomach. He can’t help the eye roll though, he really can’t.

“You got something to say, Jim?”

The words cut through the air with an electricity that proceeds a fight, one that Frank’s been preparing for since Jim found out he was selling the car. Here we go, Jim thinks, setting down his fork and looking briefly at his mom. Winona’s eyes plead, not tonight, Jimmy, please.

Jim squares up Frank with a look that could cut glass, and with a practiced coolness in his tone, responds simply; “No, sir.”

“Good.” Frank’s eyes cut back to his plate and he forks a heaping pile of spaghetti into his mouth. “You find yourself a job yet?” He says it with a full mouth but still manages to smirk, marinara sauce on the corners of his lips. His tone carries that awful grating faux-parental-disappointment that Jim’s mostly learned to ignore. Jim shakes his head and Frank snorts, shaking his head.

If it weren’t for his mom, Jim would have socked him.

Winona smiles at Jim with tired eyes, poking at her food she talks about the farmers market her and the girls are planning for Saturday at Saint Mary’s, distracting Frank from the conversation and from her son.

________________________________________________________________________

 

Before bed, Winona knocks gently on Jim’s door, easing it open and smiling at him as she leans against the doorjamb. Jim looks up from his laptop and turns in his computer chair to face her, trying to stifle the sudden pang of guilt in his chest. “Hey, ma.”

“Hey, Jimmy.” She takes the opening to make her way into Jim’s room, sitting gently on his bed as he closes his laptop. “You doing alright?”

Jim falsely brightens, eases down the worried thoughts that drag along his spine and shrugs, “Sure thing, ma.” 

Winona regards him with the hawk-like gaze she always has when she’s trying to read her youngest. Jim figures he’s kept up the façade well enough when she stands and walks towards him, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “Goodnight, Jimmy.”

As she makes her way to the door, a sudden burst of insecurity blossoms inside of Jim. 

“Hey, ma?” He stands and walks towards her quickly, avoiding her gaze as he wraps his arms around her. He takes in the smell of her shampoo and the smell of Mom and her small body, relishes in the hug she returns without question. After a few long moments, Jim pulls away and looks her in the eye. “I love you.”

She beams a smile at him and reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “I love you too, Jim. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight,” Jim whispers as she pulls the door closed after her. 

He takes a moment to settle in the warmth and the security his mom leaves him with, just as she always has. Jim takes a few slow and easy breaths before he turns his attention to his closet. Inside is a duffle bag he pulled from the attic on the night of his birthday; stamped with Riverside Fire Department, Captain George Kirk. Within the duffle are a select few of Jim’s favorite clothes, his passport, a picture of his mom and dad and one of Johnny’s Iowa Hawkeyes sweatshirts. Ensconced safely and counted to the penny, the mason jar painted black that Jim’s stored his savings in since he first got an allowance for chores at the age of 13 is wrapped in his leather jacket at the bottom of the bag.

Jim returns to his computer and goes through his email and social media, gleaning the things he doesn’t find important anymore as he waits for the house to quiet down and his mom and Frank to go to sleep.

At 12:35am, Jim grabs his duffle, now packed with his computer and various chargers, and looks back at his room, taking in the space he grew up in one last time before he shuts off the light and closes the door. He walks quietly down the stairs and takes one last look around the quiet, dark house before he grabs the keys to his dad’s Stingray out of the desk drawer by the couch and walks out the front door. 

He loads up quickly, an eye on the second window to the left of the second story as he closes the trunk and pulls the drivers side door closed after him. 

With the turn of the key, the engine roars to life in the silent night. Jim curses himself for not throwing the thing in neutral and pushing it out of the driveway and to the street. 

Too late now, he thinks, as he throws it in reverse and backs out quickly, watching the second story for a light to come on. It never does. 

Jim makes a sharp left onto the main road and peels out, gravel spraying behind him. He looks back once, the house still dark, and whispers, “so long,” to himself.

Above him, the Iowa sky is a mix of inky black and brilliant stars. Jim flips on the headlights and realizes with horror that Frank had switched out the cherry radio with its slider and knobs, for a CD player and digital radio. Jim curses, punches the power button on the device and cranks the music nonetheless. 

Sabotage by the Beastie Boys roars through the speakers and Jim turns it up to until it nearly drowns the rev of the engine. As he watches the farmhouse disappear in his rearview mirror, the world unfolds before him. Gravel illuminated by the headlights, he realizes that he’s never felt more free in his life. Jim screams along with the radio and smashes the gas pedal to the floor, any anxiety he had over leaving disappears behind him like the dust from the dirt road in his rearview mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, please forgive any mistakes. It's been a good long while since I've written anything, but I couldn't get this out of my head. Enjoy.


End file.
